Fic: Twisted Dreams, Brown Cortina, Sam/Gene, by talkingtothesky
Title: Twisted Dreams (sorry :P)
Rating: Light brown cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Words: 933
A/N: ayumicrea and I were in the chatroom and somehow we ended up deciding we wanted Sam/Gene, naked, playing the game Twister. We decided it was only fair we both had a go. This is my attempt, Lucy's should be along in a tick. And now I must run, far, far away, for she will kill me.
The party had gone rather well. Everyone else had staggered off home by now, drunk as skunks (and in Sam’s head ‘drunk as skunks’ sounded pretty funny right now, even though it made no sense).
“What you giggling about, Tyler?” Gene slurred into Sam’s shoulder, muffled.
“Skunks!” Said Sam, and then laughed some more.
“You gotta…stop doing that. Hurtin’ me ‘ead,” Gene groaned.
Sam spotted something. “Hey. Guv!” Sam shifted under Gene’s weight; propped himself up against the desk a bit more so that he could stagger over to the Twister mat Chris had left behind. “Fancy a game?”
Gene squinted over at him, slowly shook his head. “Not enough players. M’ too drunk to sit up straight anyway, let alone anything else.”
“Aww, come on! I can spin the wheel and play. And you look okay to me.”
“Fine, then. But m’only doin’ this because ‘m drunk, Sammy. Got it?”
“Come on,” Sam grumbled, and tugged at his ankle. “I dare ya.”
“Okay, okay. Coming.”
Gene gradually levered himself to a standing position (with great support from the desk, Sam noticed) and eventually stood over Sam and - Sam admitted in his drunken state - looked bloody gorgeous, even while pissed to the gills. He had to force down another giggle at that: first skunks, now fish.
“Sex in a box, eh, Sammy-boy? Is my esteemed colleague finally surrendering to the Gene Genie’s charms?”
“Shut up. S’just a game. Sit down.”
“Hmpf. Fine. Get on with it then.”
“That’s not disappointment I hear, is it?”
“Piss off. Spin it.”
Sam mock-glared at him, then stopped when it made his head spin instead. “Fine.”
First up was left hand red. Sam easily found the nearest red spot to him, reluctantly Gene did the same with a different spot. “This is stupid. Remind me why I agreed to this again?”
“Because you love me, Guv,” Sam said flippantly, then realised he was actually waiting with baited breath for Gene’s answer to that.
Gene just snorted. “Yeah, deluded, you are. Hurry up so we can get this over with and go ‘ome.”
“Right foot blue,” Sam said, and they moved accordingly, but this time there was significantly more contact between them. Sam felt some of his drunken haze flitter away as Gene’s thigh brushed against his.
Sam looked round at the placement of Gene’s leg. “There’s another spot right next to the one you’re on!” He said indignantly. “You’re doing that deliberately!”
“So? Just spin the wheel, Dorothy.”
“Left hand yellow.”
“Just a thought, genius, but you do that, how exactly are you going to spin it again?”
“Eh? Oh, hadn’t thought of that. I’ll just put my hand back afterwards.”
“Right leg yellow,” was the next instruction, and the two of them - very drunk, not particularly flexible - struggled to move around each other to obey it. Sam could feel Gene’s bulk resting warm at his back now, their legs tangled up. Sam felt like his arm couldn’t prop up his weight for much longer.
“Oh, sod that for a lark,” Gene said, and let himself fall onto Sam, squashing him.
Face pressed into the plastic, Sam realised this couldn’t be more ridiculous if he’d dreamed it. Even if he’d been dreaming every day since he got here. And he’d had some particularly odd dreams about Gene…
“Now that you’re on top of me, d’you think you could do something about it?”
“I’d be happy to, Sammy-boy,” and Gene’s hands were moving with more co-ordination than Sam might expect from a drunk person. Even as Gene’s fingers were massaging the backs of his thighs, running down along the seam of his jeans, the curve of his arse, Sam was annoyed that Gene had pulled that bloody trick again.
“You just can’t ever be properly drunk, can you?”
Gene was busy nipping at Sam’s ear and had to break away before he spoke. “You just can’t ever stop thinking, can you? And anyway, you seem fairly cognizant to me, Sammy.” He removed his hands from the back of Sam’s trousers. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
Immediately missing the feel of Gene’s skin on his, Sam wriggled, tried to get closer to Gene again. “No.”
But Gene moved away again, teasing. “No, what?”
“No, don’t stop, Guv!”
And that did the trick nicely.
They were grappling, suddenly, rolling around on the floor, knocking into chair legs and table legs and sending papers flying. But Sam was oblivious to it all as they divested each other of shirts and ties and vests and finally, finally -trousers.
Sam was quite sure that Gene’s hand reaching inside his boxers and firmly taking hold of his aching cock, stroking him to full hardness, was about as fantastic as dreams got. If he had to be lying in a coma in 2006 at least he had something to keep him occupied. And Gene’s other hand reaching up to pinch sharply at a nipple - ah! - was a really brilliant thing to be occupied with.
“Tyler. Are you still thinking in there? I might get offended if you keep that up.”
“You’ll just have to work harder then, won’t you?” Sam replied with a grin.
“Right.” The feral look in Gene’s eyes gave Sam a shiver of fear that only added to his arousal. He’d seen that look, plenty of times, but remembering those instances amounted to thinking again and all thought disappeared once the warmth of Gene’s mouth closed around Sam’s erection.
“Gene!” Sam gasped out desperately, reaching out to him but finding nothing there to hold on to.
His dream.